Close to Soreil, Bretonia
A grey, overcast sky promised more cold rain. The air above the road from Soreil was filled with the braying of mules, the oxen`s bellows and the swearing of men who tried to do too much with neither enough space, nor time and communications. A few flags tried to provide orientation, but hung listlessly as they were soggy from the rains that had drenched them before.
"This is not what I expected?"
"Why so Milady?"
"So many carts, so few men. Where are your soldiers Andy Thrope?"
"They will come up later. This is just the advance guard and a substantial part of the supplies we need to fight the campaign. They will go to the camp at Fregune, this is our jump-off point."
"You send the supplies before the army? What madness is that?"
"We can hardly forage Milady, this is what the other side does. We need to take what we need with us. And this is going to be a long campaign, so we have to preposition the supplies. Have no fear we have enough soldiers with that to keep the enemy from raiding them. And we will know when their main army moves and will be ready then."
"There are reasons why you lead our armies Andy Thrope, thanks for reminding me."
"Amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics Milady. I just wish I was more of a professional."
"You will do Andy Thrope, you and the Fellowship of the true Grail will do what is needed. I know it."
"From your mouth to God`s ear Milady."
"Are you sure that is a good idea mon general? It can be arranged, but…."
Khemri, Nehekhara
„SETTRA LIKES"
It was hard to decide who of the two beings before the mirror was the stranger one. There was the Tomb King, a huge undead whom a nasty explosion and a following battle had literally disrobed. And there was the really strange looking man who had heard about that and had offered a remedy. Nehekhara had not produced any new piece of cloth for thousands of years, there were no tailors and no seamstresses to make up for any loss. Whatever garments there were, were threadbare, cut and bereft of color even before the before Nagash nearly annihilated them all. That might do for a common skeleton, but certainly not for the Tomb King who had united them twice, once in life and once thousands of years later. And he certainly was not the only one. His court still held the same ceremonies it held in life, they would look so much better when everybody had decent robes again. This human had shown up one day with proposals for new clothes. A hierophant had listened and when he turned up during the next audience caused quite a stir.
The human had shown his creations to Settra on a magical device he called "pad" and that somehow managed to depict the Tomb King already clothed in his designs. Not only had he devised a clever system of supports that made the robes fit as if flesh was still beneath them. He really knew what to do with the right colors, with precious stones and metals. The robes were traditional enough not to offend and glamorous enough to shine. Oh yes, Settra liked what Harald Glöökler had to offer. He would become the Tomb King`s personal tailor for many years to come.
He had one more hour to try out the designer`s newest creations and discuss redecorating some of his palace`s chambers with him. Bilfinger and Berger were up next, they promised to unearth many edifices buried by the sands in a ridiculously short time. There was also a proposal to build a dam in the River Mortis and get rid of its worst poisons before releasing the waters. It was supposed to generate energy somehow too. They promised to erect this dam for free if he were to give them the license to use most of that energy to refine some ores they had found in his domain.
This was a new world and he would have to see how to move best in it.
SETTRA WOULD RULE.
Larret, Bretonia
The army that marched down the roads towards far-off Soreil was the picture of martial splendor. It occupied the road for many a kilometer, moving through the country like a colorful caterpillar. There were the knights, borne on Bretonian war horses, the finest human-bred horses there were. The horses were splendid, and so was their harness. They would be protected by armor which was currently part of the Knight`s personal train as not to wear the steeds out before the time came. Their riders wore their armor already as the Rebels had shown an unfortunate propensity for cowardly tactics such as ambushes. The armor was thick, made of well-forged plate and exquisitely wrought mail with a thick layer of cloth underneath that would absorb any blows. The armor protected knights who had trained for war since the day they learned to walk. Being able to steer their horses by shifting weight and knee pressure alone they had achieved a mastery of their weapons that only decade-long training could bring about. All of them were able to fight encased in 30+kilogram of armor, on horseback or on foot. Their arms were usually family heirlooms, of the finest workmanship and as familiar to them as their own limbs. Their training and their equipment cost what a village or two produced. Most of them had seen combat for real, they knew what it was about and that they could face it. They were part of a tradition that had fought greenskins, dragons and demons. Now they faced mere peasants. They knew that the time for endless ambushes was out, that they would take to the field and win the glory.
They had come from all the provinces of Bretonia that were not in rebellion and their passage caused nearly as much hunger and misery as last year`s campaign in total, simply by foraging supplies from farmers who did not have that much to give to start with. Most knights had servants and orderlies, some brought pretty boys and girls along. That there was no honorable enemy to slay did not mean they could not wage war in style. Each member of this army was one of the best warriors there was, sure to win the victory by the force of his skills and arms.
Close to Fregune, Bretonia
The army that marched down to its objective looked like its members were part of something that might become an army in some years hence. The long march and the narrow road prohibited formations more elaborate than a long file of four ranks. Huge clouds of dust rose from the marchers and colored them alike. That coloring managed to hide that their clothes were a mixed bunch. The dominant color was black, simply because that allowed to dye the various cloths that had been acquired secondhand. No such thing was possible for the shoes and the feet displayed everything from Nike trainers made in another universe to paratropper`s boots worn by Bundeswehr soldiers before.
Those who had armor, a minority, had protection mad from bedsheets, T-shirts and towels enhanced by sheet metal straight from the junkyard. Their weapons were a very mixed bunch and they showed all signs of a manufacture that prioritized speed of production and function over looks.
Many, many others did not have any arms besides a knife. Instead they shoved an endless row of carts that contained more contraptions that were half junkyard, half mad scientist medieval edition and all McGyver.
Their march lacked an energetic swing as they were badly loaded down with personal equipment and all the stuff needed to fortify their lager when they would stop at night. The very few Knights that accompanied them knew the capability of their enemies and despaired at the numbers. Those who had been men-at-arms before had seen the elephant and had seen how much better their former bosses were at combat. Those who had joined the rebellion without such experience had been beaten by the nobles so often that it had ingrained itself into their personalities. Their general had commanded nothing larger than a regiment before, a short time at that and had nearly made a hash of the siege he conducted.
All of them simply had enough of being told they were scum, only barely fit to serve their betters. They would no longer see their daughters being taken by impetuous young nobles who desired their beauty who would discard them when their desires were slated. No longer would they hand over the greatest part of what they had produced with sweat and aching backs just to see their children hunger.
They had enough and so had accepted a harsh training regime that lasted through the last six months. No matter if yeoman, serf or former noble, they thought themselves as soldiers now. They would fight, they would protect each other and they would protect each other. Today they could just march towards the test that would show what they were made of.
They marched and when they had the breath for it they sung.
Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!
Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes!
Arise, children of the Fatherland
The day of glory has arrived!
Against us tyranny's
Bloody banner is raised, (repeat)
Do you hear, in the countryside,
The roar of those ferocious soldiers?
They're coming right into your arms
To cut the throats of your sons, your women!
Close to Castle Artois
The hidden watcher mustered the long column if knights that made its way through the woods to Castle Artois. He saw all that armor, the arms and the high spirits. He also saw the lack of preparedness in case of ambush, he saw the commanders clearly marked so that snipers could single them out and their general lack of recognizance.
A year ago he would have liked nothing more than to be an accepted member of the knights before his eyes. He would have valued their heavy plated armor, had his servants keep it sneakingly clean and shiny and proudly raised the Duboi`s flag.
That was before he had drunken from the Grail. The Grail had transformed him in so many ways. It had made him stronger, faster and more enduring. It had raised his already good skills at arms and it made people listen to him. Most of all it made him see. It had shown him that for a Knight there could be no higher goal than fulfillment of the mission given to him by the Lady herself. No hardship would keep him, he did neither care for the fellow Knights` approval nor did he crave the glory of combat for its own sake any more. The chivalric code was revealed to be a tool to be used like any other.
He was a necessary evil, he would be vilified by his peers when this was finally over. And they would not only feel morally superior as he would do what they could not, there would still be a Bretonia where the Knights played their role.
Now he was clad in cloth and mail armor that would not slow him or give him away by sound. He used the dagger and the garrotte with equal ease as the sword and he was surrounded by the bodies of those who wanted to snipe the army below his vantage point.
He would not join the Knights and he did no longer care. He would make sure they could play their role.
15 kilometers North-West of Gaspar Castle
Andy Thrope had did not like riding. He had never seen the point of such an expensive hobby before he had followed Germany into another universe. He simply had to learn when he had decided to become part of the Railroad. He had never become especially good, just good enough that he could do other things without minding the horse too much.
"Voyager" was a gelding, something that made him cringe when he first heard of it and now thankful that he knew the alternatives. Currently the horse was grazing after carrying him and his staff up a hill that allowed him to see a good part of what was supposedly his army. His stomach still did funny things when he thought about the responsibility, roughly as long as it took him to remember the Lady`s kiss on the forehead he had received when he led the army from winter quarters. By god, if he were to lose he would do so because he made a mistake, not because he second-guessed himself.
The army had marched better than he had hoped. There were stragglers, there were injuries and accidents, but all in all they had moved at a speed which would not have embarrassed a Roman Legion. That was good, he intended to invest Gaspar Castle and fortify his positions before the Royals got their knightly arses into gear.
There was a crackling behind him and his signals staff started to talk loudly into microphones and taking notes. He knew that he had to present the stiff upper lip, but even so he barely managed not to rip the wireless set from the officer`s hand. Especially as what he heard did not bode too well for his plans.
His upper lip got more of a workout when he listened to the scout`s report and learned that his carefully crafted plans had just been smashed to pieces. The Royals had placed themselves between the Castle and Fregune. They marched towards him at a good clip if the reports were not off. So now what?
He had been in combat before, had experienced the clarity that took hold of him and which revealed the world around him in such bright colors and crisp tones. He was fully aware of the many eyes that watched him, the ones that needed reassurance that their general was on top of it and those who judged his performance more critically. He had to do something but what? All sensible thought escaped him for the moment.
He slid of his horse, not looking at his aide-de-camp who took care of the reins. He went in his knees as if in prayer before unfolding the roll he had taken from his scabbard. By the time he had fixed the edges with a couple of convenient stones his staff had joined him.
He needed answers, needed them direly and the map before him would provide them.
10 Kilometers from Gaspar Castle
Hippogryphs were simple, fierce creatures. Their temper was such that only the most strong-willed and fearless would consider them as their ride. Beaquis was all of that in spades and the only rider who had managed to tame him was known as the Lionhearted. Louen Leoncour was not only Bretonia`s king, he was the finest knight the country had to offer. He ignored the magnificent beast that bore him up, the vista below him was far too important.
His country had suffered badly in the last years in unforeseen ways. The serf`s treachery was just the last pearl in a chain that had begun when Marienburg and the Wasteland was replaced with this den of hedonism called Germany. His knights had been humbled by them, lands he had considered his occupied by the Germans and their slant-eyed allies. Their ideas poisoned many a mind and their lure enticed serfs to leave their rightful masters. And now there was this rebellion that ripped his realm in two, that forced him to kill his own subjects and sully his hand in what could only be called murder. He had pushed his army hard to gain a chance to end this. Every day this madness was allowed was one that hurt his beloved Bretonia. Sooner or later the wounds would be too much to heal and his realm would be no more. This was his chance and by the Lady he would grasp it.
While his body was strong and his mind as able as ever he was much advanced in years. The rumors had it that he had seen 90 summers already and only a few knew that it was actually more. Only one knew how this was possible and lived.
He had spent the years granted to him by the Lady at war. He had fought human armies from the Empire, Marienburg and Tilea, he had smashed the Greenskin hordes and faced terrors literally not of this world. He knew war, its patterns, its seasons and its rituals. What he faced now was a combination of what he knew and what he did not.
The pale morning`s sun shone on a battlefield comprised of the fields of a small hamlet. There was some grass, some bushes and copses of trees but mostly the deep dark brown of Bretonia`s fertile soil. The field stretched for several kilometers in all directions, undulating slightly until it rose into a hill line at the far end. Those hills and the terrain before them held an army. There were huge rectangles full of the hated pikemen interspersed with other infantry. At this distance it was hard to see what they were but some kind of missile troops were the best bet. The enemy had arranged a huge line from the swamp to his right to the woods on his left. There was another, shorter line in the middle, probably reserves. To the side of these reserves a small group of knights caught Louen`s eyes and for a moment his breath caught when he thought he saw a green one amongst them. Whoever they were, they were a mere drop to the sea of true knights doing his bidding.
There were lot of machines behind the blacks of infantry, some sort of catapult. They could not be very powerful of they were mobile. They would probably kill some unlucky lads but were unlikely to do much. Some of the enemy were in the shadow of something that the King had heard about before only to see them for the first time today. Ugly, grey shapes, vaguely resembling fat sausages with tails and a mouth hung motionlessly in the sky. Small-seeming baskets hung below them and tried to spy on their betters.
He had another look at the battlefield until he was sure to have gotten the enemy`s measure. When Beaquis` claws touched the ground he was already awaited by his Marshalls. The leaders if Bretonia`s faithful provinces were great warriors, born and raised for the joust and the battle. They would lead his troops to victory.
"They hold the line up there and dare us to come to them. I am inclined to give them what they want but not the way they want it. Beauchamps, we attack in en echelon, starting from the right. You turn their flank and push toward the middle. When you have your attention the rest of us will smash into them. Let`s see how these pikemen defend themselves from two sides at once, shall we. Comte de Marais, take your Hippogryphs and get me rid of those balloons before we charge the center.
